Starting Over
by Kitskune Miyake
Summary: After being found, the fate of the real Roy Harper was up in the air. He decides to take matters into his own hands.


One last fic before the hiatus ends w00t!

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or affiliated characters.

* * *

"I hate you."

He looked back at me. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I hate you," I repeated.

"That makes two. I hate me too."

I wanted to push him over, but he was so much bigger, so much older. I wouldn't be able to move him if I wanted to.

_That should have been me_.

"Get over yourself," I spat at him. "You should consider yourself lucky. You have a life, an identity. I'm only a shadow."

He laughed bitterly. It sounded so much like mine. I wanted to kill him, take his place like he took mine. "_You_'re a shadow? I'm a _clone_. I'm a cheap knockoff of you. You…you've had a history. A childhood. A legitimate past."

"And you took it all away! Nobody cared about me for fifteen years. _Fifteen years_. I was nobody until Ollie asked me to become Speedy. Then _they_ got me and created you. The only reason anybody cares about Roy Harper is because of you.

"I couldn't even grow up and become someone. I'm the same as I was eight years ago. And now they expect me to pick up and make something of myself. Ha! I don't even have a _name_ I can call my own." The clone—the _real_ Roy—widened his eyes. I glared back at him, hating him with every fiber of my being. He looked like he was going to reply, so I continued talking. "And now who I'm supposed to become is up in the air so they can protect your cheap ass. If I look too much like the Roy Harper who was adopted by Oliver Queen, people will ask questions.

"I'm not supposed to know this, but they expect me to pick up and pretend like I don't know a thing about the inner workings of the League. Maybe I don't know much, but I know Green Arrow. I know there are sidekicks than the public knows about. Do you seriously expect me to just _forget_? Just pretend like I _didn't_ just miss out on the chance of a lifetime?

"You're all full of bullshit. I don't want to play along anymore." I turned around and walked away. I was almost at the door when I felt his hand grab my shoulder. Even in his hands, I could feel tough muscles, compared to my own bony shoulders.

"Roy—" he started. Hearing my name shot anger through my veins. It wasn't even my name anymore; it was his—and he could keep it for all I cared.

"Fuck off," I finally told him. I pushed his hand off my shoulder and walked out of the Hall of Justice.

* * *

Three days later, I started school for the first time in eight years. After making sure Roy wasn't tailing me, I withdrew as much money as I could from a couple of Ollie's bank accounts. I made sure to withdraw from a few different machines, and I tucked the cash away in the backpack Roy had given me. From there, I caught a Greyhound bus to anywhere-that-isn't-here-ville and ended up in Gotham.

The registration had been the most nerve-wracking experience of my life so far. The admissions lady seemed wary of me, but we were able to clean up the misunderstanding with a few hundred dollars. She signed off as my guardian (Lisa Keller) and I became her fictional son (Dylan Keller).

Some of the others seemed wary of a new student appearing more than halfway through the year, but I managed to avoid trouble. Though my skills were rusty, I managed to impress the coach with my soccer skills during gym. I made a couple of quick friends, and decided that it would be worth staying around, away from the League's prying eye.

I decided to stay far away from the archery team, no matter how much it hurt my heart. They were pretty terrible; I was leagues above even the coach. Their form was atrocious, and their aim was even worse; showing them up, however, wouldn't help me stay under the radar. I swear I could hear the _thwip_ of the bowstring as I watched from the football field.

I fell into the regular pattern. With a little more persuasion, the admissions director let me stay at her apartment. I got to school early, endured my classes, and chilled with my friends until my temporary guardian drove me home. It lasted three days.

After school one day, I ran outside, far ahead of the usual wave of students that swamped the halls. I could feel the sun slowly revitalize my cold hands, when all of a sudden—

"Roy?" I could feel my heart stop. I turned to find the person who called me out.

It was an older guy—not as old as I should be—straddling a motorcycle. He had jet black hair that just barely covered the nape of his neck; his eyes were blocked by dark sunglasses. A red biker helmet was resting on the handlebars. As the people flooded out of the school, I could hear the girls giggling and pointing at the guy, commenting on how hot he was. He looked around confusedly, obviously looking for me. I tried to turn around, act casual, pretend that I couldn't see him; he saw me first though. Getting off the bike, he walked over to me and my friends.

"Roy, we need to talk." I wanted to curl up and disappear. My friends looked at me, raising an eyebrow at the suspicious stranger. I laughed it off; it sounded awkward and forced.

"Ahahaha, he must be confused, I'll bring him to the office." I grabbed the stranger's elbow and led him towards the administration building. Once we were a decent distance away from everyone else, I dropped the pretense.

"Alright, who the hell are you? How did you find me?"

"Come with me, I need to talk with you." He didn't seem keen on answering my questions, but I kept pushing.

"How did you find me?"

"It's not too hard to track Ollie's withdrawals. Don't worry, I cleared the transactions before Batman checked."

"How did you know I was here?"

He laughed. "This is my city. I know every stranger that passes in." He was exaggerating, I think. His smile faded. "Come with me. We need to talk"

I eyed him warily. It's not every day that a stranger picks you up from school. I was torn between complying and running away, but I knew I didn't stand a chance. He was tall and muscular, built for the back-breaking work of crime fighting. I couldn't take him, not even in my wildest dreams.

"Fine," I finally said. "But you better make it worth my while."

* * *

He took me to one of those cafes a few blocks away from school. None of my classmates were there, thank God. After ordering a quick snack, I decided that I had to make my intentions clear before he tried to drag me back.

"Look, I'm not going back to the League—"

"I know."

"So don't even try to—wait what?"

"I get it. I'm not here to drag you back." He uncrossed his arms and leaned towards me. "I'm here to help you disappear forever."

If it had been anything else—if it was someone else, if I wasn't so desperate, if I wasn't batshit crazy—I would have walked away. Instead I laughed. "That sounded psychotic."

"I'm serious."

"I know. That's why it's so funny."

"I guess that means you don't want my help." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of me before I could react. "Which would be such a shame to let these legal documents go to waste."

"Documents?" I was intrigued.

"Some people happened to owe me, so I asked them for a new identity. I _accidentally_ gave them your stats and they _accidentally_ just used your picture to complete their papers, which should get to you in one to two business days. I also _accidentally_ purchased a ticket to Los Angeles that I didn't need." As he spoke, he pulled out a manila envelope, laying it deliberately on the table.

"I'd also hate to _accidentally_ send this image to Ollie if you don't accept the documents."

"Who the hell are you?"

"A friend. That's all that you need to know." He smirked, and I couldn't even see the smug look in his eyes; all I could see was my reflection.

"Now," he continued, pulling another bag from his backpack (seriously, what the hell?), "I recommend dying your hair in the next week or so. Get a haircut too. Don't let the dye job be too good or they'll get suspicious.

"Ditch Queen's clothes, and just use the hand-me-downs I have. They'll be looking for a boy in dirty Armani, or whatever high-fashion you use.

"I've got a place already paid; they won't bother you unless you disturb your neighbors, so just lay low. Feel free to build a reputation once you get a haircut. I'd also suggest a pair of glasses; you'll be surprised how many people get away with glasses.

"You'll also need a job, so I hooked you up. You'll be exhausted at the night shift at Taco Bell, but you'll be able to sustain yourself; Queen's money won't last forever, and withdrawing any more will arouse suspicion."

"Why are you doing this?" I didn't move, only stared in amazement as the crap on the table piled up.

He gave me a pained look. "You just want a fresh start. You don't want to be a danger to the League or a liability—"

"How would you know?"

"Because the Roy I knew had to get it from somewhere. He'd never betray the League, so I don't think you would either." He was right. "I could be wrong though." No he wasn't.

The waiter finally came back with two milkshakes. He eyed the bag and envelope on the table, decided that he had seen worse, and walked away. I sipped some of the strawberry milkshake; I was hungrier than I remembered.

"You're welcome," he finally said.

"What?"

"You were going to thank me. I beat you to the punchline."

"I was not!" Lies. "You're so full of shit."

"Well, I was going to take you to the airport, but I guess since I'm 'so full of shit'—"

"Hey, no. Just because you're full of shit doesn't mean you don't know how to get to the airport." He smiled; it wasn't smug or forced.

"Clean up your stuff. I'll pick up the tab this time. You _so_ owe me."

* * *

Three hours later, I found myself leaving Gotham, finally leaving the dream that went so terribly wrong. It was bittersweet: I lost the opportunity to be the hero I always wanted to be, but now I could be whoever I wanted to be. Sitting next to some stranger in the economy class, I closed my eyes and let myself dream who I wanted to be. I though back to the final conversation I had with that stranger as I hurried through customs.

_"Hey! You never told me your name."_

_He seemed hesitant to answer. "Dick Grayson. It's not like you care to exploit me."_

_"And my name is…?"_

_"Connor Hawke."_

* * *

Shit ending is shit.

I wanted to finish this up before the new episode comes out on Saturday, before they developed Roy's story. Forgive me if it doesn't have the usual polish or flow. Please tell me what I did right/wrong.

I cannot emphasize this enough: WHEN I MARK IT AS COMPLETED, I HAVE NO INTENTION OF PUBLISHING A SECOND CHAPTER. Do not follow my one-shots; any sequels would get a new fic, marked as a sequel.

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